


A moment without perfection

by littletechiebird



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:29:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littletechiebird/pseuds/littletechiebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request: Johnlock, Lisp</p>
            </blockquote>





	A moment without perfection

He shouldn’t laugh.

 

Really, he shouldn’t, and he knows it.

 

But it’s damn near impossible with the combination of the clearly displeased look on the man’s swollen face. He’d been struggling with staying lucid for several minutes now, and his drawl is slow and slurred — a combination of the drugs and the punch that he had so cleverly convinced him to hit him with, quite literally. 

 

He knows that laughing at someone who is injured really is horrible. Normally, he never would. He’s a doctor, and an army doctor at that, so he’s quite professional about these things. But it’s Sherlock. The man who is always so high above, the epitome of professional intelligence, and makes no mistakes. The man who seems to think of himself of the closest thing to perfect — only not really. But it’s in this moment where it’s easier to see just the man. There’s no perfectly shaped jaw, no perfectly porcelain skin without a flaw, no eloquent speech that is ready to turn against you in a moment to turn acidic with the aid of the ridiculously well-versed mind. It was just a man, struggling against the drugs circulating in his perfectly human body, until they ran their course. Just a man with a swollen jaw and cheek, an angry red mark sitting atop the swollen area, branching out to cover most of the side of his face. A man who had woken up with horrible bed head. 

 

It was a man who, at the moment, needed help. He watched over him, trying to be there any time he stirred with the odd dreams, or nightmares, that ran through his head. Getting him to stop thrashing when his body tried to help him rebel against the dreams. During the moments where he briefly woke, he would coax him to drink a little bit of water to help with the drugs, before allowing him to lull back into sleep. It was almost like treating a fever, which he had worried about him developing there for a while. 

 

But as he finally woke, he readied some soup for him, even though the perfectly helpless man who had been confined to bed under the Doctor’s orders had resented the food almost as much as the orders. He saw the frustration brimming over in bright blue eyes as he was forced into feeding him, simply because Sherlock’s motor skills hadn’t completely returned just yet. The last thing they needed was Sherlock spilling piping hot soup all over himself.

 

Though a similar thing came to pass, and was the origin of the struggle against his laughter. As he fed him the spoon, a bit dribbled from his mouth which he hurried to catch with a napkin. The food was suddenly that much more offensive to him, just as much as his body not responding accordingly. 

 

“John, I am kindly a’th’king that you get thi’th bowl out of my th’ight right now. Th’o I would appre’th’iate you doing that now. I will eat when I am able to under my own power, thank you.”

 

John simply stared at him for a moment before the damn broke and the laughter spilled passed his lips. Even the eloquent speech was ruined. And he had himself to thank for that. The drawl mixed with the lisp that came from the swelling from his punch.. He should have felt bad. He should not have been laughing. 

 

But he didn’t know when there would ever be a better opportunity for him to enjoy a moment like this. After all, it was all in good fun.


End file.
